The Obsession
by Igorina
Summary: Ginny Weasley can't cope with Harry's little obsession any longer. When Harry just can't fathom what the problem is, a certain dark haired demon capitalises. A pre-slash HarryxDraco Good Omens crossover.


Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings to be found herein.

A/N: Another HP/GO crack!ficlet that I wrote a few years ago. It can probably be read as a sort of prequel to Divine Intervention of the Diabolic kind.

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Ginny Weasley looked at the man sitting across the table from her with a mixture of sadness and resignation. It had taken several weeks of soul searching to get to this point, yet here she was ready to make the most shattering decision of her life so far.

"Harry," she said, after taking a large gulp of white wine, "I don't think I can marry you."

Harry looked startled. "You don't?"

"No Harry, I don't." Her voice was sorrowful yet resolute.

"But why, we've been engaged for three years, haven't we?"

"Yes, and that's the problem, we've been together for three years and nothing's changed."

"What do you mean 'nothing's changed'? I'm an Auror and you're a successful Quidditch player, I'd say that was a bloody big change."

"You're still obsessed with Draco Malfoy."

"Ginny, I am not obsessed with Draco Malfoy. I just have a healthy professional interest in tracking him down and bringing him before the Wizengamot."

"Voldemort and his biggest supporters are all either dead or in Azkaban, yet you spend most evening re-reading every Malfoy sighting reported since 1999. At weekends you go and pester his ex-classmates for information regarding his possible whereabouts. Millicent Bullstrode's even threatening to take out an injunction to prevent you from setting foot within five miles of her house."

"But none of that means that I'm obsessed, just that I'm dedicated to my work."

"When we go tea at The Burrow you spend hours boring everybody about how you've found his fingernail clippings in some Bolivian cave."

"Ginny, how can you say that!" exclaimed Harry, looking momentarily offended, "It was Peru not Bolivia."

"Look," she said, as a waiter set down their starters in front of them. "Even Luna was talking about how she'd noticed that you're becoming increasingly unhinged; and she edits the Quibbler and runs an enchanted sex toy emporium to fund a three thousand galleon a year Snorkack spotting expedition, for gods sake. And the things you've been shouting out in your sleep lately have been frankly rather disturbing."

"I can't help what I dream about," he protested in a voice so loud that it caused several patrons to jump.

"I know," said Ginny, looking down, "but your subconscious is really starting to frighten me. You need help; professional help."

Harry decided against mentioning that he had sought professional help, only to find that Dr. Darryl Birkett, the well known television soundbite psychologist, was soon on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

_"I've seen many strange things over the last year,"_ the trembling man had said, _"Two Dukes of Hell with trust issues, an angel and a demon arguing about their sex life, the anthropomorphic personifications of Famine and Pollution having a blazing row about where to spend Christmas, the antichrist and three of his friends trying to come to terms with the compromises entailed in flat sharing, but I swear to any deity that might be listening, if I hear the words 'Draco Malfoy' one more time I going to go completely mad"_

He had thought it prudent to leave the man in peace after that one.

"Ginny I'll change, I swear."

"Last time you said that you just went from reading those thaumatological forensic reports in the cellar to reading them in bed."

"Well, we weren't having a conversation at the time so I thought that I might as well spend a few minutes looking over them."

"Harry, we were having sex!"

"Ah..." There really wasn't any sensible response he could make.

"Sorry Harry," she said, clutching her handbag so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, "I think it best that we part ways here." And with that she stood, eyes fixed straight ahead, and bravely walked out of the door.

Harry was too stunned to follow her.

He was also too caught up in self doubt to notice the man in the dark glasses two tables away burst into a fit of laughter as his companion looked on with disapproval. Was he really obsessed with Malfoy? Was it really abnormal to spend over seven hours a day thinking of ways to track down a minor ex-Deatheater?

He did look up however when the man in the shades strode over to his table and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, do I know…."

"You're getting close to the truth Mulder… Oh bugger. I mean, you're close to finding him Harry. The answer lies with the Snorkacks."

"What on earth do you mean?" demanded Harry, but it was no use, he was already heading for the exit with an utterly furious looking fair-haired man in tow. If this wasn't a sign that he was doing the right thing then he didn't know what was.


End file.
